We hold the rivers of the Eastern trail 
Deep in the land of [bad word] #39; 
Following the wind in our sails 
And the rhythm of the oars 

No shelter in this hostile land 
Constantly on guard 
Ready to fight and defend 
Ours ships 'til the bitter end 

We came under attack 
I received a deadly wound 
spear was forced into my back 
Still I fought on 

When I am dead 
Lay me in a mound 
Raise a stone for all to see  [bad word] carved to my memory 

Now here I lie on the river bank 
long, long way from home 
Life is pouring out of me 
Soon I will be gone 

I tilt my head to the side 
And think of those back home 
I see the [bad word] by 
Like [bad word] from my wound 

Here I lie on wet sand 
I will not make it home 
I clench my sword in my hand 
Say farewell to those I love 

When I am dead 
Lay me in a mound 
Place my weapons by my side 
For the journey to Hall up high 

When I am dead 
Lay me in a mound 
Raise a stone for all to see  [bad word] carved to my memory